Taken
by Svanna
Summary: Änya is taken by Imperials without any recognition on how. She must escape and find out where she was taken in order to get back to her family. A fellow prisoner accompanies her on her quest to protect her family and destroy her captors.


Everything was still black, but I could feel the ground below me shaking. I opened my eyes, but only saw blurry shafts of light. I groaned, lifting my hand to grasp my forehead-but I was unable. I tried lifting my hand again, but it was stopped by cold, tight fitting metal. My panic soon cleared my vision; my eyes adapting to the dim light. My wrists were captured in shackles that were rusted with blood. My own blood would soon be added to them if I continued to struggle. The chains were bolted up behind my back, I didn't notice the metal bar against my leaning frame until now. I shuffled forward, also noticing I was void of my armour, now wearing ragged cloth trousers held by a cord and a potato sack with arm and head holes cut into it. There was a sudden jolt to the room I was in and my head hit the stiff wood behind my head. I wince, shaking it off. I finally hear a horse neigh, now I know where I am: I'm in a dangerous prisoner caravan. I'm unsure if there are other carriages with me, but I'm positive there are two other prisoners with me in this cell.  
They were both quite the whole time I was figuring out my situation, maybe they're asleep? They look like they've been through this routine before and are just waiting it out. They were both sitting on benches bolted to the wall - I was sitting on the floor of the dank carriage - on opposite sides. The man to my left was emaciated and short in stature, his long ginger hair dirty and matted. Maybe he was a Breton? All things considered, this one may not be of much use to me. His ragged, wet sounding cough concluded my theory. He could, possibly, provide for a distraction for my escape once I figure it out, the man on the other side of this cart, though... Is a much different story. He was built tall and lean, not like that of most brutish Warriors. His short black hair and mostly clean skin suggested he was healthy. He may either choose to aid me or attempt to kill me in the escaping process. I've killed my fair share of men, this one will be no different if he wishes for death.  
The cart goes over another large rock and I bang my head against the iron. I grunt; probably going to have a headache for a few days. I hear the horse neigh as it is told to 'whoa'. I wasn't prepared for such a short trip. Or maybe I've been in here for longer then I realize, I just can't seem to remember how I got here in the first place... I feel a weight lift off the cart and footsteps rounding to the back of the carriage. I take in a deep breath and let it out steadily. Maybe my cold demeanour might distract the guards? The doors on the cart swing open and I'm momentarily blinded by the sudden burst of light. The guard signals us to file out. The Breton goes first, then the black haired one. I just sit and look as pretty as a half-blood Nord woman can chained up to a wall. A fully armoured guard steps into the cart; sword and key drawn.  
"Make any shifty moves, Knife-Ear, and I'll behead you where you stand." He growls.  
I keep a plain face and shrug my brow, holding my wrists up to him. He first ties my wrists together with rope before unlocking me. He yanks me off the floor and places me on the ground outside. He did all this with one hand, mind you. He is easily almost twice my size. Two guards outside point their swords at me while my two other compatriots stand to the side, not being minded at all. My, with all these precautions they're taking, I must've been a real hassle when they captured me. Just the thought of someone capturing me puts a damper on my ever so dwindling ego. The larger guard hops off of the carriage and shoves me towards the Breton.  
"Get a move on, all three of you are to be beheaded within the hour." The guards Imperial accent commanded.  
I felt the gaze of the black haired one and our gazes quickly locked. His striking green eyes looked worried, and confused at the same time, although for different reasons. I must look strange to him, being half Nord and half Bosmer. I was short, with tanned skin and angular looks with slightly pointed ears. Yes, I looked a lot like a Bosmer, but my striking icy gaze shows that I'm definitely not full blooded. The man I gaze upon, though, appears to be Nordic, despite his raven hair. He was different looking, but definitely Nord. I keep my gaze calm and collected, trying the tell him I got this all under control. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief and nods slowly to me. The large one shoved me again, knocking myself into the stinking Breton. "Move!" He boomed. As soon as our bare feet padded the stone trail below us, everything slowed.  
There was a guard at the front of our line, leading us to an unseen fort. There was one more behind us and the large guard was to my right. They all have one short-sword each, but the big one has an iron dagger stuffed loosely into his boot. That dagger; that little slice of hope, is what's getting me – and these other two oafs – from becoming headless corpses on a stake. I notice the guard behind me wasn't wearing a helm of any sort, which made easy pickings for me, and shoving the Breton in front of me will topple over onto the lead guard, which leaves me with the big one. I'm not going to walk away from this unharmed, even in the best of situations in my head. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hear I go.

I slam the back of my head into the guards nose behind me and duck quickly. When the large guards turns to see what just happened. I grasped the dagger hilt with my teeth and lifted it out of his boot. I swung my head, slicing into the back of his knee joint for good measure. I headbutt the Breton's knees in front of me and he yelps, falling into Raven-Hair, which falls on top of the guard. Raven-Hair slams his bound fists down onto the guard on the ground, knocking him flat. He gave him a swift kick to the stomach and spat on him. I'm starting to like this character. I turn my attention to my hands bound behind my back. I let the dagger slide down my arm and into my hands. I quickly slice through the rope and turn on the broken-nosed guard. I jump, knocking his nose back into his skull with my knee. I land on him and slit open his throat, a spray of blood lands across my chest and face. As I turn to face the large one, he tackles me to the grounds on the other side of the road. I grunt, the dagger being knocked out of my reach as he pins me to the earth.

"I told you, Knife-Ear, but you just wouldn't listen." He said, his stinking breath wafting up my nose. I spit on his face, he returned with a growl. He lifted his plated knuckle for a finishing blow. I close my eyes, thinking back to my - The guard gasped in surprise, my eyes fling open. There was a short-sword sticking through his chest. He looked down at it, baffled, then looked to me with a confused look on his face. I shook my head. "Hey, I'm not _that_ good." I state. In reply, he fell to the side with a dying wease. The one who stuck his was, not surprisingly, Raven-Hair. He was gasping from the fight, but he was considerably less bloody then I was. I shuffled over to the dagger and grasped it, lifting myself into a crouch. Raven-Hair lifted his hands, "Whoa, hey, I just saved your life. I don't want to end up like your friend over there, trust me." He said. I knitted my brows, looking back to the guard with a slit throat. I wouldn't want to be him either. I look back to Raven-Hair. This man was younger then I thought. Considerably younger.

"How do I know you won't harm me?" I asked, keeping a level gaze. He sighed, flopping his arms to his size. "Well, I spared the Breton if that's good enough evidence." He gestured to the snivelling heap of man rocking back and forth beside the calm-looking carriage horse. "Who are you people?!" He said in a ragged and confused voice. I stood with an exasperated groan, sheathing the bloody dagger into my rope-belt-thing. I walked over to the Breton, slicing his rope bindings with a short-sword from one of the guards. "He has a point... Who are you? Better yet, what's your name?" Raven-Hair asks as I help up the Breton. I pause. This man did help us escape, and hasn't tried to kill me yet. I gave him a calculating stare. "Will you tell me yours in return?" Raven-Hair smiled and bowed slightly, "I promise." I scoffed lightly, which he seemed to have noticed. "What?"

"You grew up in Cyrodiil, yes?"

"Why.. Yes, I did. How did you know?"

"Oh, nothing just... The way you hold yourself." I state as I begin rummaging around the guards pockets for gold or anything of use. Raven-Hair stood over me, crossing his arms. "You're an odd one yourself, you walk and talk like a Nord, but clearly you aren't." As I secured a pouch of gold to my belt, I stood, looking up at him. "My father was a Wood Elf, but I never met him, okay? My Nord mother raised me. Done with your questions?" He knitted his brows. "No, I still haven't got your name." I shrugged my shoulders, walking over to the carriage to search for a sack. When I find it, I grin, looking through it. All my armour and weapons are in here, so I should be set for a few days. "My name's - "  
"AAAGH!-" The Breton's scream is cut off as an arrow pierces his neck. Raven-Hair an I both flit out eyes to the Breton's body, then to each others, then to the direction of the arrow. An arrow whizzed by, scraping the side of my arm. I wince, grasping my bleeding arm with my left hand. I squint my eyes, trying to spot an archer. Seven guards, two with bows and the rest with swords, come racing towards us. I feel myself being pulled off the cart and placed on the ground. "Time to go." Raven-Hair says with a mischievous grin, running with me. As he ran, he grabbed the sword out of the large guard's corpse. My short legs have to work double time to keep up with him, but I push on; I'm not getting captured by these damn Imperials again.


End file.
